The Lost Daughter: 04 Red on Green
by natsora
Summary: Black hair, green eyed, Nike is an oddity even in the Slums. But she is a biotic fighter of the Reds, nobody dares crosses her. Unless their name is Frank and he is the boss of the Reds. Losing never mean good things in the Reds and losing a fight in the Underbelly is no different. Maybe getting a hair mod is just the change in luck Nike needs.


Red on Green

Tags:

Backhand slap, bad things happen, physical abuse, child abuse, violence, minor surgery, medical inaccuracies, origin story, pre-canon

Summary:

Black hair, green eyed, Nike is an oddity even in the Slums. But she is a biotic fighter of the Reds, nobody dares crosses her. Unless their name is Frank and he is the boss of the Reds. Losing never mean good things in the Reds and losing a fight in the Underbelly is no different. Maybe getting a hair mod is just the change in luck Nike needs.

_Prompt fill for Backhand Slap._

"What happened?" Frank asked.

Nike stood ramrod straight, resisting the urge to touch the searing hot amp at the base of her neck. It was still sending sharp pain up into her head hours after the fight.

"What happened?" this time the question was punctuated by a backhand slap.

Fire flashed across her cheek as her head whipped back. Heat spread across her skin stung by the slap. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out, tasting iron when her teeth cut her lower lip. After all, this was all old hat to her by now. Being a ring fighter in the Underbelly, one of the many hopefuls fronted by various gangs, all of them vying to be the champion, pain was her bread and butter. Nike knew her record, she was climbing steadily, winning more than she was losing. But Frank brooked no failure.

She grinned, forcing herself to smile, showing him a set of blood teeth. "I lost." The words spat out, they lay limp on the ground. "I would have won if it wasn't for—"

His hand rose again and she jerked backwards ready for it, but she couldn't avoid the fist driving up her gut. Air whooshed out of her lungs as she fell to her knees. Twin spikes ran up her knees. She groaned, spitting blood onto the concrete floor.

"Nike, remember you're only part of the Reds as long as you're useful," he surged forward, hand snaking out to yank her up by her hair. Her black hair pulled back in a short stubby ponytail provided a handy hand hold. She had just started letting her hair grow a little, just so she could have them out of her eyes when she fight. "If you need a little help, I can always dock your share of the credits and get you some Red Sand."

A shudder ran down her spine as Frank's breath hissed against her ear. "No!" the answer came back fast. She stood on her tip-toes just to keep pressure off her hair and scalp.

Frank jerked his arm. Pain ran down her scalp and she yelped. "Then, do better," he shoved her against the wall.

Nike's vision white out as her head connected with the concrete. She ran her fingers over her hair, pulling free a shocking amount of loose strands. She sucked on her bleeding lip to keep from speaking again.

"Remember how much you stand to lose," he reminded, his voice icy cold and slicing.

Straightening her spine, she faced Frank again. Her jaw tight as her hands wringed anxiously behind her back. Her amp was buzzing, a residual from pushing too hard in the ring earlier, but it's also a reminder of everything she owed Frank. He had scraped her off the streets, given her a place in the Reds, installed an implant and an amp into her head, giving her access to her abilities and a chance to prove her worth.

"I won't lose again."

Frank glared at her, his grey eyes burning with a cold fury. His chin jerked towards the door and Nike knew she was dismissed. As she inched towards the exit, never quite letting her guard down, he called out, "Send the girl in after you."

Nike stiffened but nodded, making her escape quickly.

Outside, stood one of the nightwalkers. She's new, Nike hadn't seen this one around before. She straightened as Nike exited. As they passed each other, Nike reached out and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped, staring at Nike. "Hands off, girl. My customer is inside."

Nike grimaced. She knew how Frank used his girls. It wasn't pretty. Bruises if they're lucky, broken bones and worse if they were not. "Don't," she said. "Get out while you still can."

The nightwalker scowled, wrenching her arm out of Nike's grip. The motion set her sequinned dress shaking and shimmering. "Take your warning and fuck off girl. I have credits to earn."

With that, the nightwalker adjusted her tight body-hugging dress, making sure it sat right, she sauntered towards the door. A well manicured finger pressed against the buzzer. "It's Carolyn."

"Enter," came Frank's muffled voice.

Nike shook her head as the nightwalker walked into the maw of the lion willingly. She headed back to her room. Dried sweat and blood still clung to her skin from the fight. If she didn't want to risk glitching out where everyone could see, she needed get some food and rest after cleaning up.

* * *

Medi-gel crusted on her lip, Nike couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. Despite the loss, she had scrape together just enough credits for that hair mod she had been eyeing. It was all the rage, especially amongst the fighters. Hair of all colour, green, blue, gold, rainbow, whatever she could think of. She fancied herself having silver hair just to stand out. And if she was tired of it, she could change it on the included software for her omni-tool. It took months to gather the credits for the mod. And now she had enough for it.

Ignoring how her muscles were protesting, despite not having slept more than a quick 20 minutes nap since returning from the fight, she walked out of the base. The hair mod called her and she couldn't resist getting it the first opportunity she could. The sky was grey, the sun steaming in gentle rays between tall skyscrapers of Midtown and reaching the edges of the Slums. Nightwalkers were retreating to their various hideouts, retiring for the night. Red Sand addicts were strewn across the alleyways, snoring and sleeping off their high, if they hadn't already overdosed on the drug. The Slums was empty. Nike was the only one walking the streets. In times like these, she could almost believe the entire world was dead and she's the only one around.

That thought left her mind the moment she heard a bark. She cocked her head, recognising it. "Burger!" she called, heedless how loud she was. With a pistol tucked under her waistband and an amp in her head, there wasn't much she feared. A brown dog with one floppy ear and one pointed ear dashed out from amongst a pile of cardboard. His tongue hanging out of his mouth as his tail whipping across the air. "How are you boy?"

Burger leapt and knocked Nike over onto her ass. She laughed, it was the only happy sound that echoed down the broken street. "All right, all right," she chuckled, pushing him away after letting him cover her face with licks. Brushing herself off, she jogged towards Stitches' clinic. Burger kept pace by her side easily.

It wasn't long before she was hammering her fist against Stitches' door. The door rattled and her thumps rang out inside. Tapping her foot, she sighed and waiting. Just as impatience got to her, the door opened. An Indian man with a mop of thick oily black hair glared at her. His eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, he growled, "It's too fucking early, girl."

Alcohol flavoured his every word. Nike grimaced and shrank back. "You don't say no to credits, Stitches," she pointed out, gesturing at her omni-tool with its balance displayed prominently. "I'm here for the hair mod."

He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. "Fine," he snapped, retreating back into the black hole of the only clinic in the Slums.

Nike stepped in, Burger squeezing between her legs to get ahead as she closed the door. The smell slammed into her instantly. Antiseptic, old blood and alcohol. It made for a horrible combination. When the door was shut, cutting out the outside light, the narrow corridor was dark. She stood still and allowed her eyes to adjust, it wouldn't do to trip over one of Stitches' haphazardly stacked supplies.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" he called out, his voice coming from the smaller room down the corridor.

Nike went past the surgery room and suppressed a shudder. She remembered the operation when she got her implant and amp. It was horrible and she would not want to repeat that again. Hopefully the hair mod was a simpler procedure. Come to think of it, she had no idea what it really entailed.

Stitches was rummaging through his various drawers, half empty bottles were being shoved left and right, setting them all jiggling and clanking as he searched. She looked around for a clean spot to sit. There was only a stool that looked like it had dried blood on it. Vaguely she wondered which of the Reds had recently visited Stitches for a little medical help. Frank had set up a retainer of sorts with him. Going to Stitches meant free medical care of a dubious quality for sure, but that's the best they had in the Slums. Nobody could afford anything beyond low grade medi-gel. She wiped the stain down with a random piece of rag before perching herself on it. Burger investigated the room, sniffing and snorting at the various scents.

"So this is where it is," Stitches muttered under his breath. He tossed a small chip packaged in plastic onto the table.

Nike picked it up and examined it. It looked really similar to the implant he showed her five years ago before he cracked her skull open to put it in. "Where is this going?"

"Somewhere in your arm would do fine."

She exhaled, the dread that was creeping into her chest released its grip. Now that she wasn't so stressed out, she looked at the chip closely. Eyes narrowing, she glanced at Stitches who was gathering various cutting and slicing medical instruments. "This isn't the model I wanted."

Stitches' eyes flickered up from his work. "You're right. It's an experimental mod. It's the only one I have now. If you want the model you initially wanted—"

Nike cut in, "I still want it."

"—but I can give this to you for cheaper."

She stiffened. Stitches had told her the one she wanted would cost her 3000 credits, but if she could get something that worked just as well for cheaper, why the fuck not?

"How much cheaper?"

Stitches' mouth stretched into a grin before quickly schooling his face. "2800 credits."

"2000," Nike countered.

"2300."

"Deal!" Hand thrusted out, they shook. Nike withdrew hers with a grimace, it was sticky with something and she didn't want to know what.

She transferred the credits and Stitches got to work. Needles and scalpels were prepped, the mod was pulled from its packaging and it sat gleaming under the buzzing florescent lights. He left the room to return clad in a face mask and latex gloves.

"Ready?" he asked, his dark eyes visible from over the mask.

She nodded. He started off with an antiseptic wipe down her right forearm that left her skin prickling. Next came the needle, she gasped a little as it went through skin into her muscles. A cold painful rush of liquid poured into her arm. Burger whined and she patted his head to assure him.

Stitches flicked his finger against her arm. "Can you feel that?"

She shook her head. The scalpel flashed in the light before he pressed it down on her skin. She couldn't look away, her skin parted stroke by stroke. Blood welled up from the incision as Stitches worked. Iron filled her nose, but she looked on in fascination. There was just a mild ache as Stitches shoved the mod in. A strange buzzing ran up her arm as the chip secured itself. Pretty soon, he was putting on the final stitches on the new wound and dressing it in white bandages.

"The manual is in the packaging," he said as he tossed the plastic at her.

Nike caught it one handed. "You're supposed to wait at least a week before trying to change the colour. Red's the default for this mod so don't be surprised to find your hair all red tomorrow."

She nodded, couldn't quite able to keep the eager grin off her face. It was starting to hurt a little now that the local anaesthetic had worn off. But it didn't stop her from activating the software on her omni-tool.

"Go play with your new toy outside of my clinic. I have more drinking to do, girl."

Her mood was too good to be dampened by Stitches' horrible customer service. She called for Burger and headed back to base. Burger parted ways with her, knowing it wasn't safe for him on base. She gave him a good belly scratching before he loped off to do his morning rounds. Yawning wide, she collapsed into her bed dreaming of silver hair and biotic fights.

* * *

"Nike!"

She jolted up. The door to her door was still shut, she had locked it when she crawled back in earlier in the morning. Her arm was throbbing now, a little blood had stained the bandages, it was all par for the course. What's she was more interested in was checking out her hair in the mirror. Launching herself out of her bed, she bolted towards the showers. In the waning yellow evening sun, her eyes lit up when she caught her reflection in the broken and cracked mirror.

Red. It was fucking neon red. She grinned. In a week she'll be able to change it silver just like how she wanted it. Taking a moment, she admired how the red hair framed her face. She reached up and pulled it all into a pony tail as she nodded satisfactorily at her reflection when a voice called for her.

"We're going on a raid, are you coming or not?"

It was Cutter, he had his arms folded across his chest, a rifle slung over a shoulder. Nike nodded and loped on after him, red hair glinting and green eyes twinkling. She was the Reds' enforcer and their representative biotic fighter in the ring. There were paths still to be walked, twists and forks to come but here and now, she was Nike of the Reds.


End file.
